The God Delusion
by JeGigote
Summary: Sherlock and the Doctor debate the merit of faith on a cold Christmas Eve in London.


Notes: I'm a theologian. So...there's that.

Also, this blurb was prompted by a listen to On Being-Krista Tippet's interview with Alain de Botton, which you can find on the On Being website.

* * *

The blue police box materialized with a whir and a whoosh of wind on top of the London Stock Exchange, the solitary white light atop it glowing a pinprick against the blue-black sky. Anyone still out on the street so late on such a cold midwinter night would only see it as a star, not what it really was: a fantastic living thing that traveled throughout all of time and space.

The door opened after a moment, and a thin man with a dark mop of curls poked his head out.

"No, this is it. You've done it properly this time," he called back into the Tardis, and pulled the door open further.

"'Course I did," The Doctor said as he joined Sherlock at the door, straightening his bow tie. "All the other tries were for practice." Sherlock narrowed his eyes and glared at the Doctor. "Anyways, we made it in the end. London, Christmas Eve. Blimey, you picked a cold one." He breathed into his cupped hands and rubbed them together for warmth.

Sherlock stepped out of the Tardis onto the roof, surveying the skyline southwards. A slight wind picked up, knifing a chill down his back. He pulled his long charcoal coat tighter and flipped up the collar. He craned his neck and peered up at the cloudless sky. "Too bad the light pollution blocks out the starlight," he said softly.

"Well, I can do something about that," said the Doctor, stepping up next to him. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and held it out, pressing a button. It glowed green and buzzed for a few seconds, and the lights of London dimmed ever so slightly, it was hard to notice. "Most everyone's asleep anyways," he said. "The won't notice the lights have dimmed a bit."

Sherlock looked back up at the sky, and to his surprise, the stars shone brightly in the moonless sky.

"It's so easy to forget that there's so much out there when you look up and it's just little lights in the sky," said the Doctor.

"They're just balls of gas, _Doctor_," said Sherlock, exasperated that he once again had to remind the Doctor of basic science.

"Well, yes, I _know_," replied the Doctor, equally exasperated. "You know," he ruminated, "some ancient human civilizations believed that the stars were holes in the firmament and the light shining through was the light from Heaven."

"Stupid," muttered Sherlock.

"Oh, I don't know," said the Doctor. "It would be a nice feeling to know that the light of some beautiful place shone down on me while I was sleeping with the promise that I might get to go there someday. Gives people something to hope for. A reason to live."

"Doctor, that sounds like you're advocating religion," scoffed Sherlock, looking at his friend.

"Well, what's so wrong with believing in something? Having hope that something more lies beyond what we know as this life? Look at you. You would have never believed all that I've shown you unless I gave you the opportunity to hope for more. To know that goodness thrives in other places than just here on this planet."

"You showed me, and I observed and deduced _with my own eyes_. I _know_now about those places. It's not a matter of belief." Sherlock felt a small thrill, like he knew he would win this argument. Reason always wins out against religion, he knew.

"But it's more than that, Sherlock. People need a reason to believe that something bigger than them is out there. They need to feel like they're not alone. That something is taking care of them when things get bad." The Doctor's tone softened. "Like how you feel about John," he added.

_Not fair_, thought Sherlock. "But that's friendship, not a belief in a higher power."

"Is it?" asked the Doctor. "You _believe_in John, Sherlock. You believe in his goodness, in his clarity of mind about what's right and what's wrong. You trust his judgment to a fault, and I daresay you'd entrust your life to him." The Doctor raised his eyebrow, challenging Sherlock's predicted retort.

"Well, yes, but-" Sherlock hesitated and knew that he had lost the argument.

"Can you _see_friendship or love or loyalty, Sherlock? You can't, but you know they exist. You put your faith in these things even though you can't see them."

"It's delusional! That's what it is," Sherlock replied angrily. His breath made little puffs of steam in the air.

"Of course it is," replied the Doctor. "Faith by nature is irrational. But we do it all the same. We all need something to hope in. That's why I like you humans so much," he beamed at Sherlock. "You hope so easily. You want so badly to _believe_. Even you, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked at the Doctor then, and took into account his age and wisdom and relative knowledge of so many places and civilizations and beings, and knew that in all likelihood, the traveling spaceman was right.

The Doctor knew that Sherlock's silence was an acquiescence, and thought it best not to say anything further on the matter.

The two men stared at the skyline, the city lights twinkling under the starry sky. Just then, the bells of St. Paul's Cathedral rang out, cutting through the silence. The cold seemed to make the chimes even louder.

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock Homes," said the Doctor, a smile in his voice.

"Happy Christmas, Doctor," Sherlock replied.

The Doctor turned, and went back into the Tardis, leaving the door open behind me. Sherlock took one last look up at the sky, and followed the Doctor.

"Doctor, I was thinking. Could we stop at 221b next?" he called before the door shut, and the blue box disappeared into the night with the same whir and whoosh in which it arrived. The light at the top of the Tardis twinkled, and some people across London seemed to recall the Christmas Star shining extra bright that year.


End file.
